


Mask

by hecate_01



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera (2004)
Genre: Fluff, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecate_01/pseuds/hecate_01
Summary: When the rest of the Opera Populaire has gone to sleep, young Mademoiselle Giry travels down to the cellars to visit her friend. He asks for her opinion on his latest creative pursuit.Takes place before the events of the 2004 movie, when Madame Giry and Gerik were growing up together.
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera & Madame Giry
Kudos: 14





	Mask

**Author's Note:**

> This is a submission for the Phantom's Lair Discord Server's Inktober event. 
> 
> Content Warnings: None!

The last of the stagehands and janitors had left, shutting and locking the grand entrance behind them. The Opera Populaire, in all its ostentatious grandeur, stood, proud and formidable, alone in the rainy midnight. Tucked away, safe from the cold dreariness of Paris, the little ballerinas were snuggled up in their cozy beds, whispering goodnights and sweet dreams to each other. When their soft snores shook the still silence of the night, the young girl roused herself. 

On quiet tiptoes, she maneuvered her way out of the ballet dormitories. With a small bag of bread rolls that she had swiped from the dinner table, she made her way by candlelight past the subterranean stone chapel and down a narrow flight of stairs. Straining her eyes, she steadied herself, peering into the dark corners. 

“I’m in here, Mademoiselle Giry,” a familiar, gentle voice called out. It beckoned her to turn a sharp left, leading her into the familiar enclave, lit by several candles positioned sporadically around the room. He was sitting on the small makeshift mattress she had made for him of spare comforters and sheets. Papers were strewn about him, and a case of colored pencils sat open before him. He hadn’t taken off the burlap sack – he never did. 

“Hey,” she greeted as she handed him the bag. “Sorry, this was all I could swipe. I’ll make sure to get you some better stuff tomorrow.”

“It’s alright. Thank you, Mademoiselle Giry,” he responded politely. He lifted the burlap up past his mouth and began snacking on the bread. “Thank you for bringing the paper and pencils, by the way.” 

“Oh yeah, of course,” she said as she plopped down onto the comforter next to him. “They were a Christmas gift, but I never use them anyway.”

“You hadn’t even opened the case. They’re basically brand new.”

“Yeah,” she giggled. “I always mean to draw, but I can never find the time.” 

She watched as he graced his hand over the open case, deftly wiggling his fingers over the line of pencils, lying in a multicolored array, before selecting a black one. 

“Can I see?” she asked as she leaned over his shoulder, watching him scribble away. He quickly turned his back, obstructing her view.

“I’m not done yet! But you may take a look at this one, Mademoiselle Giry.” He handed her one of the papers that had been lying on the bed next to him. She took it and smiled.

“You don’t have to be so formal. You can call me by my first name.”

“You’re a lady,” he shrugged. “So I should treat you like one.”

“I’m hardly anything like a lady,” she murmured, looking down at the paper. 

Three thumbnail sketches of his profile were arranged across the page, spaced out by a couple of inches, differentiated only by the masks each one wore. One portrait wore a black mask which terminated into a thin veil that covered his mouth. Another wore a full mask that replicated a death’s head. One wore a white half mask, which concealed the entirety of the right side of his face, excluding his lips and chin. She ran her fingers delicately over the paper, careful not to smear his work.

“You’re really good at drawing,” she admired. “You definitely make better use of those pencils than I ever could.”

“Thank you, Mademoiselle Giry, but really, it’s not much,” he whispered bashfully, placing down the black pencil in favor of a baby blue. 

“It is, though! You should take more pride in it. But, can I ask why you’re drawing these portraits? What’s with the masks?”

“I’m tired of this,” he gestured to his burlap mask. “It’s itchy and uncomfortable, not to mention its ugliness. So, I’m brainstorming some new designs. I’ll need you to help me collect the supplies and materials. Are you alright with that, Mademoiselle Giry?”

“Sure, of course, but I could just as easily get you a mask from the costume department.”

“No! Where’s the fun in that? There’s no room for creativity. I want to make my own!” he replied stubbornly.

“Alright.”

“What do you think?”

“Huh?”

“Which mask do you like the most?”

“You’re asking  _ me _ ?”

“Yeah. I want to hear your thoughts.” 

She smiled softly, simultaneously surprised and honored. He had been nervous ever since she brought him here: backing away when she came near; wincing whenever she raised her hand or accidentally brushed against his shoulders; aggressively pulling the burlap mask down when it rose too high. Despite his skittish behavior, he was always polite. It had taken him months to warm up to her. It always brought her joy to see his confidence and trust grow, which manifested in his sharing his art, ideas, and dreams with her. However, he never told her about his past, or even his name, for that matter. She knew she’d never truly know everything, and it’s better not to ask anyway.  _ Life really does give some people the short end of the stick _ , she thought.

“Well, I don’t particularly like the black one. I think it’d be rather difficult to clean – the veil, I mean. Not to mention, it makes you look like you’re going to a funeral.”

“I’m not attached to this mask, I just needed to get it down on paper.”

“It’s always good to get ideas out.”

“Yeah.”

“I think the skull mask is cool.”

“I know, right?!” His unbridled eagerness only endeared him to her. She flashed him a small smile as he switched pencils, now coloring with a brown one. 

“But I think it’d be rather impractical at times – it’d be difficult to eat with. So, I think you should save it for special occasions.”

“What special occasion would I have to wear it for?”

“Uh...a party, maybe?”

“No one would ever invite me to their party,” he grumbled solemnly. 

“I would.”

“Really?” He turned towards her, gazing through the eyeholes of the mask into her own. She nodded, truthful in her words and feelings.

“Yes, I think you’d be fun. You could make the decorations.”

“I’d do a pretty good job, wouldn’t I?” He returned to his drawing.

“Yeah, you would. I wouldn’t want anyone else to do it.”

“What do you think of the half mask?”

She looked back at the paper again, her eyes following the lines his pencil had made. 

“I think,” she said. “I think this mask is my favorite.”

“It’s certainly more practical.”

“That, and–”

“But not as awe-spiring as the skull.”

“True, but I think I like it the most because I can see more of you.”

The quiet, hushed whispers of the cold air, the flickering whips of the candles, and the reverberated  _ drip drops _ of falling water on stone marked their silence. He had paused in his coloring, but his trembling hand was by no means steady. She hadn’t meant anything by it, she really hadn’t.

“Why would you want to see more of me?”

“I–”

“So you can laugh?”

“No, I–”

“Oh, why did I even conceive this mask? Why did I even show it to you?” he cried.

“I’m sorry–”

“You just want to make fun of me!”

“No, listen!” she silenced him. “I just wanted – I just wish I could see more of the face of my friend, that’s all. I’m sorry that I upset you.”

“Friend?” he whispered. She met his eyes, and nodded her head.

“Yeah, friend. I wouldn’t give you my pencils if I didn’t consider you a friend, or come down here every night.”

“I’m your friend?” his soft voice quivered.

“Well,  _ I _ consider you a friend. I don’t know how you feel–”

“No, no! I do. You’re… my friend. I’m sorry, it’s just that no one’s ever called me that before. So,” he scooted closer. “Does that make you my best friend?”

“I think so,” she responded. She felt him lean his head on her shoulder. He held the paper close to his chest and sighed. She could feel the coarse burlap chafe her skin, even through her bed jacket, but she didn’t dare to complain – he didn’t get like this often. “You should go for mask #3.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. But I’m still going to make the skull mask.”

“Of course! You’ll have to show me when you’re done.”

“I promise, but first, take this.” He handed her the drawing he had been working on. “I hope you like it.”

Her portrait had been sketched and colored wonderfully and with such accurate precision; he could’ve told her it was a photograph and she would’ve believed him. She met the sketching’s eyes – her soft brown hair framed her face, and contrasted with the baby blue ribbon in her hair. He had captured a gleam in her eye – a brilliant, wonderful gleam that sent a comforting warmth straight to her heart. She had never felt this beautiful – or magical– before. 

“I’ve been wanting to draw Mademoiselle Giry for a while. Your portrait was the first I started working on. The masks and the doodles I made during my breaks. But this one’s my real masterpiece.”

She took in a sharp inhale. 

“This is wonderful! Thank you so much!” She pulled him into a side hugh. She felt his hand rest against her opposite shoulder, drawing her close.

“You can keep it. It’s a gift.”

“That’s very kind of you! You’re so talented, it’s unbelievable.”

“Oh, thank you, Mademoiselle Giry. I, uh, hope you don’t mind my drawing you... It’s just you’re really nice and really really pretty and I wanted to do something for you since you’ve been taking care of me and all,” he laughed anxiously. She couldn’t help but feel concerned – he doesn’t normally talk this rapidly. Nevertheless, his words took her by surprise.

“You really mean that?” She could feel her face burn with blush. 

“Yeah, I do…” He pulled out a fresh piece of paper and began scribbling a new sketch. “You’re the nicest, prettiest person I know.” 

She could sense the sincerity in his words, but couldn’t help but let out a soft giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, nothing. You’re quite the charmer, if I say so myself.”

It wasn’t long before they overcame the initial awkward tension, and they passed the rest couple of hours in ease. He showed her his sketches – he was focusing heavily on the mask and its aesthetics, as he put it. Marking up his face, recording the distance, discussing which materials he planned to use. She listened to every word he said, occasionally responding, but was overall baffled by his sheer ingenuity.  _ Surely _ , she thought.  _ He’ll grow up to become one of the smartest men in the world _ .

“I was exploring earlier today, and I found a lake.”

“A lake?” she answered incredulously.

“Yeah! It’s huge, dark, and smooth. The surface is like glass.”

“I wonder what a lake’s doing beneath an opera house,” she mused.

“I’m gonna build a boat someday, and sail across it.”

“What do you hope to find?”

“I don’t know, something spectacular.”

“I don’t know how much spectacular there is in these parts.”

“Oh, but there’s plenty,” he corrected. “I’ve seen spectacular things here.” He met her eyes and held her gaze. “So many magical, wonderful things.”

“You’ll have to show me someday.”

“I don’t think I need to.” She could hear the cheeky smile in his voice. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing. Nevermind it.”


End file.
